The Birthplace of Misfortune
by Deezle
Summary: Nobody ever doubted Tom Riddle when he said he couldn't love. Nobody was brave enough to dig into his past. And nobody knew where he had gone so wrong. This is the story of how Tom Riddle came to hate the world.
1. A Begginning

Hey - this is my hand at writing a darker fanfic from what I've done before. So yeahh. Here ya go.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Harry-related, it's all JK's. 

There's always been a chunk missing. Something, some part missing from his life. It didn't make sense. What pushed him off the edge? Most people assume it's because of the incident with his uncle that shook him awake, that caused him to become what he is today. But those people are wrong.

Let me take you back many years ago, back when the world was blissful and unaware of a certain young man, by the name of Tom, Tom Riddle. Those who knew him thought well of him, and those who saw him were instantly impressed. He was quite good-looking, but had a certain mechanical air about him - almost as if he were plastic; like he had no emotions to spare. His smiles were empty, his gaze was rehearsed. He had trained himself to please, and of course, who wouldn't be pleased by him? A youthful, attractive young man as he was, he had no problem persuading others to give him what he wanted. He could wrangle nearly anything from almost anyone with his charm, and this came in handy where he worked.

He had a day job at a store named Borgin and Burkes, a magical antique collection shop that specialized in the often dangerously occult. Tom was the man they sent in to retrieve an object they wanted from its owner. He was quite successful at this, and for that he received much praise. Sometimes, people at the store would wonder what such a bright young fellow like Tom Riddle would be doing with a shop job such as this, but they were often left hanging. Tom assured them he had no problem with his work, and, with a flash of a curious smile, he would persuade them to purchase one of the less valuable items in the store for a ludicrously high price. What's even more ludicrous is, they would often go and do just that.

What interested Tom Riddle in his job were the strange and mysterious artifacts he was asked to collect. They did all sorts of amazing things, some were said to be cursed; others, wield great power over the wearer. He was inclined to take them all for himself, but of course, he was in no position to do that. So he found himself one.

It was a simple ruse, really: he would simply go to the person in question's house and convince them to part with their dearest mystical treasure with his wit and charm. Once they did so, he would pocket the trinket carefully and conceal it, so that no one would realize he was keeping it for himself. Then, he would just go back to Borgin & Burkes, tell them that the said person wouldn't let go of their treasure, and leave it at that. People usually didn't question Tom; they left him to his own devices. This worked to his advantage.

Soon after discovering this new way to pillage through ages of antiques, Tom began to scout out his own artifacts to find. He would search through newspaper articles, history books, and of course, word of mouth, to find out the locations of any magical, powerful, rare items and go off and take them under the name of Borgin & Burkes. This proved no problem to him at all. Most of the world seemed too gullible for words.

Now, Tom was always on the lookout for more and more ways to locate antiques. He thought it was taking too long, picking up tips from people and stories and chasing leads. He needed a reliable source, a full catalogue of items. And this particular type of source came to him only a few weeks after he started his little plan. He was sitting in a back room at Borgin & Burkes, and came across a dusty, leather-bound book entitled "Darke Artifacts and Whence They Came From". Flipping through the book a little, Tom found it was filled to the brim with delightful information on almost every single power-charged object imaginable. There were a few he'd already collected, and several more he was in the process of tracking, but most of them he hadn't even touched on yet. It made him realize how he's only scratched the surface on all the gold-digging he could do. There were so many useful antiques in the book to look over he could scarcely contain his excitement. Turning each yellowed page, every item in the book seemed to get more valuable, more powerful, and more and more close to home.

Deciding to see if the book was still accurate after all its years, Tom picked an artifact from it that he would quite like to own. It was an amulet, an amulet that belonged to a French-Italian family named the Cameres. According to the dusty tome, it gave the wearer the ability to store an infinite amount of the wearer's magic into it, so in the event that you were weakened, you could take some energy from the amulet and you'd be back on your feet. You could even store other wizard's magic inside it, all you had to do was point the amulet at them and press your thumb into the back of it. Tom thought this was definitely worth looking over.

He had looked up the Cameres on the tacked-up charts of detailed family trees that were up on the far wall of the back room. These were quite useful for tracking down the last and latest family member of a certain heritage, so store staff could get in contact with them. He carefully looked over all the family trees, of all the families connected with the dark arts. He ran his finger over them, checking over each name for the last name "Camere". It looked like a lost cause - the family trees were too branched out, too numerous, and far too time-consuming. He had almost decided to give up the prospect, when he finally found it: Jacques Camere, the first in line of the Camere family. He had apparently changed his name from the non-illustrious last name of his parents (which was Traipe) to the far fancier-sounding 'Camere'. Tom looked to the right of Jacques' name, and found that this man had, according to the chart, married a sea nymph.

Tom cocked an eyebrow and double-checked he'd got it right. Yes, there it was. No name, but the words 'sea nymph' scribbled into the family tree rather messily in permanent ink. All right then, he thought, i suppose some people have had stranger beginnings. He flicked his gaze to the bottom of the Camere line. Almost none of the last row had the last name 'Camere'. In fact, most of the last row seemed too far apart and diluted from the main tree that it seemed impossible for the first Cameres to have passed on the amulet to. He looked them over again, and found, to the far left, the words "Angelique Victoria Camere". He had not noticed this installment in the tree because there were numerous scribbles across it, as though someone wanted to hide the name. Underneath the scribbles was a single scrawled word, in scratchy, faded writing. The word read very plainly, "Insane". 

This was going to be a little tough.


	2. Moving Closer

Tom Riddle looked down at the crumpled piece of paper in his pale, porcelain hand. He glanced up at the rickety-looking house he was facing, and then checked that he had gotten the right address. He tilted his head, and looked over at the building's cracked stone walls, overrun with tangled vines; and the door, which was bolted tightly shut. A pewter knocker in the shape of a hawk adorned the molding wood. Some of the windows were boarded up, and those that weren't had thick black curtains pulled tightly across it.

Its neighborhood wasn't all that pleasant, either. It was rather dark and dreary, and had a grim air about it. There was nobody out on the cobblestone sidewalks, except for a straggling tramp. He was huddling his way across the road, and, catching sight of Tom, he sharply turned into a side street. Tom shook his head disapprovingly, then turned his attention back towards the house.

Placing a hand on the knocker, Tom tersely hit it against the softening wood. A muffled thumping sound echoed through the street and inside the house. He waited patiently, hands by his side and feet firmly upon the ground. He had his wand safely stowed for easy access in his front pocket, just in case.

Tom was dressed very smartly, in a dusty-colored suit and a stark red tie. His shoes were shined and polished, and were completely unscuffed. He had purchased this suit just yesterday, at a Muggle store, so he could cause minimal alarm to the civilians living around the house. He was in a Muggle neighborhood now. He adjusted his tie carefully, put on an empty smile and waited for the door to open.

A few seconds later, the aging door swung upon, thudding against the wall and startling Tom. In front of him stood a thin girl, looking about nineteen, dressed in a tasseled maroon dress that was cut sultrily low. On her feet were black dragonhide boots, tied with silver laces. She wore a decidedly bored expression on her face, which was slightly gaunt and quite pale. Here eyes were a piercing violet and she had long black hair, which lay straight and flowing over her shoulders. "What," she said harshly, eyeing Tom up and down. Tom smiled his plastic-angel smile and recited his customary lines. "My name is Tom Riddle," he said placidly, "and I'm here about your amulet. I hate to be blunt," he apologized, "but I do have a limited amount of time." Here he paused, unsure of what her reaction will be. He knew he needed to tread carefully, since according to his sources, she _was_ insane.

The girl now had an amused look on her face. "Well, come in then, Mr. Riddle," she said bemusedly. She stepped aside, and Tom wandered in. "Please," he smiled frozenly, "Call me Tom." He looked around the interior of the house. It was heavily cobwebbed, as if nobody had cleaned it in a while. As soon as Tom reached out to dust off the top of a banister, a small shriveled house-elf scurried out of seemingly nowhere. It looked up with huge button eyes at Tom and brandished a feather-duster.

"The Mistress is most apologetic," the house-elf quipped, "if I may say so on her behalf. Kemmy is sorry, sir, she has let the house go in the absence of visitors," she continued, making her way around the house and clearing it up, all spick and span. Tom nodded at the elf, who immediately continued brushing the house down. The girl cleared her throat, and Tom's attention was directed back towards her. "This is Kemmy, my house-elf. As you would have guessed," the girl said, waving a hand at the little elf. "Now, shall we get down to business?" She indicated her living room. Tom followed her as she led the way.

Seating himself down in a plush, overstuffed armchair in a corner, Tom steepled his fingers and looked over at the girl, who was sitting across from him on a small sofa. This was easier than he expected. She didn't seem insane at all. He looked into her eyes, and cast another of his mechanical smiles at her. "Angelique, is it?" he said. She nodded. "Yeah, that's right." Looking back on him, Angelique thought he seemed a little strange, a little creepy to her, but she liked that. "What did you say you wanted again?" "Rumor has it you have a magical amulet, for lack of better words," Tom replied, leaning back in his chair. "Actually," the girl said thoughtfully, "I do have it. But _you_ can't have it. It's a long story." She gazed over at Tom, her curious eyes meeting his own empty ones. They both smiled at once, but this time, there was something different about Tom's. It looked more genuine.

He wasn't sure about her, but he had definitely noticed they had something in common, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Something had clicked, but he wasn't sure she had felt it. Tom savored this feeling. It was new to him…but he wasn't sure if he liked it. And suddenly, the moment was broken. "Shall we discuss this over a cup of tea?" Angelique cocked her head towards her kitchen. "Go ahead," Tom said reclusively. She got up and left the room, with Tom's gaze trailing behind her.


End file.
